The Forgotten
by LittleDoveFlyingHigh
Summary: The story of those who are lost to time. The records that have been lost. Records of heroes, and villains, and those who chose no side. Their stories will be brought to light here. Note: there will be appearances by canon characters, but none of them will be featured or the main focus.
1. Marina Berichvan: 190 Meters

**This is actually an idea inspired by Kuroyuki no Ryu's story _One_** ** _for Ten_** **. It's really good and I suggest reading it, especially if you're looking for a long-lasting fic (it's 123 chapters). Anyway, onwards with the story! Oh and,**

 **I DO NOT, HAVE NEVER, AND WILL NEVER OWN STAR WARS: THE CLONE WARS. I ONLY OWN THE MAIN CHARACTERS YOU WILL READ ABOUT.**

* * *

 **MARINA BERICHVAN**

 **CIVILIAN ; SPECIES: (HUMANOID) BIMM ; AGE 10**

* * *

Marina was scared.

She didn't think she had ever been quite so scared in her entire life before.

The droids had come. Mom and Dad had told her to run, she heard the blaster shots, the screaming, the silence that followed.

Marina wasn't stupid. She knew Mom and Dad were dead, she knew she would most likely die.

That didn't mean she was just going to sit back and wait for death to come knocking.

No, Marina would give herself the best chance of survival she could: she'd run as fast as she could, and wouldn't stop until her lungs screamed and her legs gave out.

She was running through the fields, fields that were burning and smoking and making her eyes water and her throat burn. She screamed in her native tongue, Bimmini, it coming out more similar to a harsh song rather than a scream of terror.

Her heart pounded, she could feel herself growing tired, weak. But she couldn't give up! Not now! She could see where the Republic base was! She was _so close!_ She screamed for help again, she could hear the horrible mechanical sounds of the droids behind her.

How could they not _see?!_ Her entire village was _burning!_ Why weren't they helping? The Republic was supposed to _help_ , not ignore the destruction around them! The Jedi were supposed to help! They were supposed to care about the other creatures of the galaxy! Her people practically _worshipped_ the Jedi! And this was how they were repayed?

Marina screamed as she tripped. She was so close! She cried, this was where she was going to die, she just knew it. She refused to accept it though. She scrambled to her feet, took off sprinting as fast as her oh so horribly short legs could carry her.

The base doors were opening, there was shouting. Marina internally cheered, they had heard her! They were going to help! She whooped and howled in joy. They were going to save her! She wasn't going to die! Not today!

Marina was _so_ close now. She could feel her freedom. She kept running, her freedom was waiting, her life was just ahead. She reached out as though to grasp the still distant base.

A blaster shot.

A scream.

Marina recovered from her shock to see the lower half of her right arm had been shot clean off. The wound had been cauterized immediately, there was still a minute amount of blood dripping from it. She held the stump of her arm as she sat, collapsed, on the ground.

She was supposed to cry, right? She had just lost most of her arm. She felt nothing, there were no tears to shed, there wasn't even pain, just a numbness that crawled over her entire being.

Instead, Marina did what she was taught to do. She turned and continued to run to the base. She could always grab a blaster if need be, but she was just a little girl. Emphasis on little, she was only three quarters of a meter tall, tall for her age as a Bimm, but rather short compared to, well, _everything_. She knew how to use a blaster, but barely, the Bimm were a peaceful people even in times of war.

She was only about three hundred meters away now. Far, but closer than she had been. The droids were closer.

Two hundred and ninety meters.

Two hundred and eighty.

Two hundred and seventy.

 _Pew! Pew!_

Marina was slowing down, she was losing precious energy.

Two hundred and sixty.

Two hundred and fifty-five.

Two hundred and fifty.

There were clones coming out of the base now, a Jedi leading them.

Two hundred and forty.

Two hundred and thirty-five.

Two hundred and thirty.

The Jedi had focused on her, they were shouting at the clones, pointing at her.

Two hundred and twenty.

Two hundred and fifteen.

Two hundred and ten.

 _Pew!_

Marina's luck ran out simultaneously with her energy. She fell, panting, gasping, clutching her stump of an arm.

She couldn't make it. She was going to die.

She lay on the ground, waiting for her time. Her heart felt ready to burst.

"Keep running!"

Someone was shouting at her, telling her to keep going. Who was she to disobey?

Marina got up on weary legs.

She ran.

Two hundred and five.

Two hundred.

One hundred and ninety-five.

One hundred and ninety.

The Jedi was next her, deflecting blaster shots.

She collapsed against them. Her heart was pounding.

"You're okay. You're safe now," the Jedi told her. When Marina looked up, she saw a young man with brown-orange hair and kind blue eyes.

She smiled.

Marina collapsed.

The Jedi shouted. A medic came over.

Marina's heart had burst from over-exertion.

* * *

 **Bimmies (Bimms?) are actually canon. Google it.**

 **Dove, out.**


	2. Jerich: See Your Fall

**Okay, chapter two.**

 **Still don't own SWTCW**

 **Also, trigger warning. There is a suicide in this story.**

* * *

 **JERICH**

 **CLONE ; AGE UNKNOWN**

* * *

Jerich never thought that he'd go out this way.

It was dishonorable, disgraceful.

He hated it.

Ironic. He hated _how_ he was dying, but not that he was _dying._

The world was so twisted.

He held the blaster against his temple, lightly squeezing the trigger.

It was just supposed to have been a simple scouting mission. Get in. Look around. Get out. Simple.

Jerich wished it was that simple.

He pressed down on the trigger.

* * *

It had been a trap. His brothers were killed. Now here he was, _running_.

He couldn't believe his first reaction had been to run. He wasn't a coward, but he was certainly acting like one.

 _They're already dead._

 _They're my brothers._

 _Who will let General Kenobi know it was a trap? That the Separatists were expecting us?_

 _They'll know. I should be dismantling as many of those droids as possible._

 _They **won't**. You need to go back, there's no sense in dying for dead men._

Jerich shook his head. He guessed that it wouldn't really be of use to anyone if he didn't let the General know it was a trap. His brothers would have to wait a bit.

He was not going to resign himself to death until he finished the mission. He got into a crouch, and took off running as fast as physically possible without being caught.

He was approximately thirty-seven klicks* from where base had been set up. He was so far away, he'd for sure be ki-

No, he wouldn't think like that. He _would_ survive, and then hopefully destroy some droids for his fallen brothers.

Jerich continued to run, he wouldn't get anywhere fast by running, but the speeders were somewhere near here. About one klick northwest of his current position. He knew that, like his brothers, he could run about forty-two kilometers per hour while sprinting, and about thirty-seven with full gear. He wouldn't be able to open up into a full sprint with droids on his tail, he'd tire out quick and be caught.

He jogged quickly to his speeder. He shot and destroyed the other three, Damon, Jeb, and Gibbs wouldn't need them anymore and Jerich couldn't risk them falling into Separatist hands.

He hopped on his speeder and took off, opening the thing up all of the way. He zoomed through the thick grass and vines at nearly breakneck speed. Jerich sighed in relief, he'd be at the base in minutes.

He could see the base now, so close, he'd be there in seconds.

He burst into the base.

It was empty, not even a whisper in the air.

Jerich didn't understand. Where did they _go?_ They couldn't have just _disappeared. . ._

. . .could they?

What if they had already received information on the Separatists? Would they really have just left him?

Jerich didn't want to believe that General Kenobi would really just abandon him and his brothers. It wasn't in the Jedi's nature. . .was it? Jerich had heard stories of Jedi who didn't care one bit about the clones under their command. Was General Kenobi like that? He didn't seem like it.

No. Jerich had to believe that the General was a good man who wouldn't just abandon the men under him.

* * *

Jerich waited with bated breath as a group of droids approached him. He readied his blaster. He was going to destroy those blasted things, even if he went down as well.

"You won't destroy those droids."

Jerich stood up stiffly. He didn't know why he would want to destroy the droids.

"You will come here."

Jerich calmly walked towards the aging man. The man had a white beard and white hair with dark eyes. Jerich couldn't remember what he had been doing beforehand.

"Good," the man said. "Just that way," he pointed at a spot approximately three klicks east. "Is a base full of horrible men who killed your brethren and now wear their armor."

Jerich was infuriated. How could anyone do that?! _He would kill them all!_

 _I'll kill them, all of them. I'll torture them until they beg for mercy._

Jerich set off on his mission. He couldn't understand why the man kept chuckling as he walked away.

* * *

Jerich was close to the base now. He growled just thinking about the men who murdered his brothers-in-arms.

 _They're all going to die. Slowly. Painfully. I'll make them pay._

He stalked silently through the overgrowth, his training making itself well known now. His breath was barely a whisper, his footsteps softer than the moon's rays. He was shrouded by the night, his formerly white armor slathered in ruddy brown mud and scorched black.

Jerich reached a guard. The man was clueless, no way he was properly trained. Jerich reached up. _Snap!_ The man crumpled to the ground. Lifeless. Jerich stepped over his body, making for the other guard. _Snap!_ Another slumped lifelessly. Jerich continued this pattern, silently killing these murderers, letting their bodies fall to the ground, moving on to the next one. Repeat.

Seven men dead.

Jerich moved towards their leader's tent.

 _Snap!_

 _Snap!_

 _Snap! Snap!_

Eleven men dead. Jerich didn't even flinch at the sounds of death.

The leader's tent. Jerich pulled out his blaster. This man would die in the most painful way he could think of.

Jerich flipped back the flimsy material.

General Kenobi.

That didn't make sense. Jerich shook his head. How was General Kenobi here?

Horrified, Jerich turned to the guards outside. He pulled the helmet off of the one. It was a face identical to his.

Jerich dropped the helmet. His knees hit the ground. He stared wide-eyed at the dead clones. _His brothers._ He killed them.

He murdered eleven of his brothers. He almost killed the General. His breathing picked up.

"Jerich."

General Kenobi was awake, standing behind him. His name was said with such finality that Jerich felt himself go completely cold. He turned, prepared for the General to execute him right then and there for treason.

Instead he saw pity. The General looked as though he regretted confronting Jerich.

"Jerich," General Kenobi started. "You and I both know what needs to happen."

Jerich swallowed his fear, his cowardice. "Yes, sir."

"You committed treason."

"That's correct, sir."

"But not of your own will."

"Sir?"

General Kenobi smiled gently at him, though it was still filled with pity. "I can sense Dooku's influence on your mind. It isn't your fault." He paused. "Unfortunately, very few will see it that way."

"I understand, sir." Jerich closed his eyes, preparing for the hiss of a lightsaber, and then his death.

"Go, Jerich."

"Sir?"

"Go." General Kenobi placed his hand Jerich's shoulder and gently pushed him. "I won't kill an innocent man."

"I'm not inno-"

"Go."

Jerich nodded, and ran faster than he ever had before.

* * *

Now here he was, holding a blaster to his head. He had run at least ten klicks (while periodically stopping to rest) from the camp. When he had first made it to the clearing he was currently in, he had promptly thrown up after stopping.

He had been so _sickened_ by his actions. He deserved to die. General Kenobi may not have thought so, but Jerich certainly did. His actions were despicable.

Jerich pressed the blaster harder into his skull.

It was just supposed to be a simple mission.

Gather intelligence on the area, scout around, get out.

Why did it have to go so horribly _wrong_

He squeezed the trigger slightly.

He was scared. Of death. Of the unknown. Of his betrayal.

He'd spit on his corpse if he was his brothers. He was a disgusting waste of space.

It was time he ended this.

He took a deep breath...

...and pressed the trigger in all the way.

* * *

Obi-wan and his clones found the bodies of Damon, Jeb, and Gibbs in the following days. Jerich's body was never recovered, but a rotting, half-eaten corpse with a hole in its head was found the following week.

No one knew who killed the eleven guards, or the four scouts, but the clones swore vengeance for them.

* * *

 ***Klicks (yes, this is how it is spelled) are military units of measurement. One klick is 1000 meters (one kilometer) or approximately .62 miles.**

 **This was...particularly dark. Even for me. Hopefully the others won't be quite so... _inspired..._ by _Game of Thrones._ Unless you people want uber dark stories. You need to let me know though. And drop a comment about the characters, do you like or dislike them? I know you've only met two (Obi-wan doesn't count because he's canon) but I want to know what you think. Also, did I get Obi-wan right? I'm not too confident on how I portrayed him in either story.**

 **Anyway,**

 **Dove, out.**


	3. Hajda Betruvian: Mute Ballerina

**I'm back! Did ya miss me? Oh, you didn't...**

 **Still don't own SWTCW.**

* * *

 **HAJDA BETRUVIAN**

 **PIRATE/BOUNTY HUNTER; SPECIES: LORRDIAN; AGE 23**

* * *

Hajda has always been afraid. Fear of being captured, fear of death, fear of torture. She had never seen fear as a weakness though, fear was a survival mechanism, it kept you alive.

Fear did make it hard to get close to others. Hajda remembered a time when she trusted others, when she wasn't afraid of betrayal or heartbreak.

That had been a long, long time ago.

She didn't hire a crew, she never gave her name away, and most importantly, she stayed away from the War. Did that make it hard to find work? Yes. Was a job worth her life? Kriffing no. How was she supposed to get her money if she was dead?

Hajda shook her head, ink black hair making a small halo. She was getting distracted from the current job. She hated to admit it, but she had broken her golden rule.

She got herself stuck in the middle of the War. She had been running low on credits, and the only worthwhile jobs involved routes or areas in the "disputed areas." She'd get one hundred thousand credits for this job. Whereas the other ones, less dangerous, only paid about one hundred credits combined. Those weren't even worth her time.

The Seps weren't shy about approaching pirates and, bounty hunters such as herself, to offer jobs. Look in any seedy alleyway, bar, or entertainment establishment, the Seps were there offering jobs to any looking for quick, though not easy, credits. Hajda happened to be one of those looking for fast creds.

This was not what she was expecting though. This . . . this wasn't a battlefield. It was worse.

It was the aftermath.

She'd have to be careful about piloting through this area. She didn't want her ship damaged by a pile of scrap metal floating around. A thump on the crystal-plastoid space shield caught her attention. She didn't want to look, she already figured what she would see. She looked.

A body armored in white plastoid. The helmet was cracked open, and Hajda watched in horrid fascination as the body turned and spun, as if dancing with an invisible partner. She could see the face, a terrified look frozen forever in the single moment of pure fear. She grimaced at the sight. She really needed to get this job over with. Then she could be out of this area quick.

Carefully piloting through the debris and bodies, Hajda scanned for her prize. She noticed it a bit of a ways further to her port side. She turned accordingly, this was it. Easy creds, a whole shipful of them, and a way to be a thorn to the Republic.

It's not like she hated the Republic, that was a rather strong word. But she didn't exactly respect it. It was made up of a bunch of two-faced politicians, hypocrites, liars. Hajda may have been a lowlife, but liars were something else. They didn't deserve any respect, they deserved to be spat on. Especially the Chancellor, that man had too much power.

Whatever, it didn't matter. She'd take up jobs from whichever side was offering the best creds. Now, she just needed to retrieve a holocron. She wasn't sure why this one specifically was so important, but hey, she wasn't about to complain. It was worth enough to get her lazy butt off the captain's chair and get her close to the War, even if she had a bad feeling.

There! It was floating in the middle of the wreckage. Hajda thought over the likelihood that she'd be able to fly through it all without damaging her ship. The thought was quickly banished, that would be an extremely bad idea, like, costly and deadly kind of bad idea. She'd have to suck it up and go out in a spacesuit to get the thing.

* * *

Hajda stepped carefully out of the airlock and into the void of space. Then she was floating. She didn't like the feeling of having no control, but she did have a minute amount of control. It was just a little thing, a little compressed air in her pack to help steer herself with.

Gently thumbing the button, she propelled herself forward. She would need to be careful of how much air she used, or else she wouldn't be able to get back to her ship. The motion of the compressed air sent her travelling several hundred meters, not that it mattered since most of the distance was just weaving around debris.

As she got closer to the holocron, she pressed slightly harder on the button, willing this job to be over with as soon as possible.

She reached out her hand. She grabbed it. Smiling, she crouched and pressed to button, maybe just a touch too hard though. She went flying straight into the hull of a destroyed ship. Crashing with an oof!, she righted herself as best she could and continued on around it.

Or rather, she tried to. She was out of the compressed air, stuck. And still so far away from her ship! A sudden idea struck her.

Planting her feet firmly on the battle-torn ship, she launched herself off it. She was a little out of control, but at least she wouldn't be dying in space. Another piece of debris floated into her path. It was rather unfortunate that she couldn't stop, she had gotten quite a good bit of speed. She rammed into the next piece of debris, an old, beaten and burned starship. Bouncing off, she flew uncontrollably in another direction. A small scream left her, she couldn't get back to her ship! She bumped into something else, softer than both a ship and plastoid armor.

A Jedi.

Hajda screamed and thrashed at the sight. She had seen death before, but this...this was different. She couldn't ever recall being this close to a corpse before, and she hoped to never be again. That does it. She couldn't be paid enough to ever step foot near the War ever again. This was both the first and last time she would ever take a job this involved with the War.

Finally, she was able to get the dead Miraluka off her. By then she was already too far away from her ship, there was almost no way back. Unless…

Hajda gripped the holocron tight, and threw it with all of her strength. It was slow and horrifying, but she was inching ever so slightly towards her ship.

She had never been so relieved to touch her ship as she was at that moment. To feel the metal underneath her gloves, to know that there she was safe. She almost cried with relief. She smashed the airlock button open and floated inside, thoroughly shaken. A job was never worth her life. She lost the holocron, but she could always just avoid Tatooine from now on. This was a learning experience, a lesson.

She never even saw it coming.

The broken ship pieces floated at an alarmingly fast pace. Right. Towards. Her.

Hajda looked up just in time to see a Republic ship's hull come crashing through her own ship. Then she knew no more.

There, in the wreckage of many ships, Hajda Betruvian danced and swirled with the clones and the Miraluka Jedi. All of them pirouetting and spinning around one another with the slow grace of ballerinas. A handful or so of mute ballerinas twirling to the silent melody of space.

* * *

 **Okay, sorry for how long this took. But I worked super hard on it and I've been tryin' to improve my writing and the way I write, so please drop a comment to let me know if it was any good or not, yeah?. Anyway, tell me what you thought of Hajda and if you want me to do a chapter on the Miraluka Jedi. (OMG THE FIRST CHAPTER WITHOUT OBI-WAN IN IT?! BLASPHEMY!)**

 **Dove, out.**


	4. Chichi Matoni: Through It All, Friends

**Sorry for the wait.**

 **Stil don't own SWTCW, or else this would be canon.**

* * *

 **CHICHI MATONI**

 **JEDI PADAWAN ; SPECIES: HUMAN ; AGE 14**

* * *

Chichi could honestly say that he'd never felt so exhilerated and terrified all at once before. It was his first ever battle, and he was excited. He could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, his heart was racing and his palms were sweaty.

He glanced over at the clones under his and his master's command. _His clones, his soldiers._ Chichi smiled a little at that. He'd never had anything that was solely his before. He shook his head. That was . . . that was _wrong_ of him to think. The clones weren't necessarily people, but . . . he didn't _own_ them like they were slaves. Though he supposed that they were slaves to the Republic, that they didn't _really_ have any free will.

Whatever, it didn't matter, _they_ didn't matter. They were disposable, _replacable._

"Ma'am, the droids are coming up over the ridge. There's more of them than we had thought. Our information was wrong," one of the clones said. Check, Chichi thought he was called. He could never keep them straight, not that it really mattered.

His master nodded. "Commander Clank, how do you think we should approach this? You have more experiance than I do." Oh, so the clone's name was Clank. Then which one was Check?

Another clone came running up, he had black symbols painted on his armor. Chichi knew for sure that this one was Gorgan, he was one of the more unique looking ones. "Ma'am, we have a problem. They've surrounded us. We don't have an escape route."

Chichi spoke up for the first time. "Why should we run? We can take them!"

Commander Whatever-His-Name-Is and Gorgan gave him measured and unamused looks. Master Donna looked at him the way he had seen parents looking at their children just before talking them all slow and explaining something to them like they were stupid. "We could, but many lives would be lost, Chichi. That is not something I wish to risk."

"But, Master-"

"I do not have the time to explain it completely to you, youngling. Now hush and carry out any order you're given. understood?" She stared at him in a way that completely unnerved him. He nodded his head, not happy with her but not willing to disobey her either. "Good."

"Ma'am, I know you hate this, but we don't have an escape route. We'll have to fight," Gorgan interjected.

His Master looked sadly at the clone. "Is there really no other way?"

"Afraid not, ma'am."

She nodded her head solemnly. "Very well. But we shall show the Seperatists that if we go down, it was more _their_ loss than _ours._ "

"Yes, ma'am!" The clones took off, most likely to alert the others of the coming battle.

"Chichi."

"Yes, Master?"

"I want you to find a way out. Take one of the speeders and get out. You can't be here for this."

Chichi started suddenly at his Master's words. "You-You can't be serious."

"I am. You are just a child, Chichi. You will not die here, not today, not at the hands of the Seperatists."

Chichi steeled himself, he would _not_ abandon his Master. "Of course I won't. I'll be right by your side the entire time. I'm not going to just leave you."

"You will if I tell you to do so, youngling," his Master said through a clenched jaw.

"Just trust me, Master! I can do this!" he pleaded. "I can help!"

She sighed. "I do not doubt your capabilities, Chichi, but that does not mean that I am comfortable allowing someone so young and new to this all to be a part of a suicide battle."

Chichi looked at her, shocked. "You . . . don't think we can win?"

She shook her head sadly. "No, I don't."

* * *

Chichi stared at the carnage all around him. He had felt it, felt the destruction of lives through the Force. He had felt their agony, their fear. He had felt it all.

Now there he stood, kneeling over Master Donna's lifeless body, standing a silent vigil for her, just as he had for all the dead clones. Master Donna was right, he wasn't to die today.

He should've.

There he stood, the lone surviver, amidst the corpses of men that were born and raised to die for Jedi and Padawans like himself. Now he understood. They were just like him, they were scared, and they weren't ready to die.

He wanted to.

He stood up, and moved on to the next corpse. There was a pale, faded green marking along the helmet, accompanied by some markings along the shoulder plates. He recognized the markings as that of Sergeant Gabriel. Chichi found that now that he was standing and facing their dead faces, their names were much more easily remembered. Gabriel got his name during a scouting mission on Kashyyyk when a young Twi'lek child ran into him and had, for some odd reason, insisted on calling the Sergeant Gabriel. The name had stuck ever since.

Chichi moved on to the next body.

Boomer. He was the explosives expert, and how he loved his explosions. He had permanant scorch marks on his plain white armor.

Check. He was a regular foot soldier, there wasn't too much that was remarkable about him, other than that he refused to say anything about his former platoon.

Trip. He was also a regular foot soldier. He had the unfortunate luck to always, and Chichi meant _always,_ trip over something, sometimes it was nothing at all, he would just trip over air.

Jack. Chichi couldn't remember too much about him. Jack was one of the few clones that didn't really seem to have a uniqueness to him.

There were so many more. Chichi looked out over the rows upon rows of bodies intermingled with droids. He had felt every single life end. _Every. Single. One. Of. Them._

He could still feel the lingering effects, the shakiness, the cold feeling of isolation. He wanted it to stop, but at the same time, he didn't. He didn't want to loose this connection.

Funny. He didn't want to loose the only connection to the very people that, just an hour ago, he didn't care even the slightest about.

It was truly a horrible feeling. This utter _helplessness_ , this _hopelessness,_ this _pain._ He wanted it to stop, but he didn't. This was his punishment. For what, he had some pretty good guesses as to.

Chichi felt the sting in his eyes, his throat closing up. He hiccuped, and collapsed to his knees. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair!

 _IT WASN'T FAIR!_

Chichi let out a truly primal scream as it felt as though the weight of the entire galaxy collapsed onto his shoulders. He ripped at his short hair and clawed at his arms and face, anywhere that was exposed. He could feel blood trickling down his skin, could feel it seeping out of the scratches. The pain didn't make him feel better, not in the slightest, but it was an escape for the stress and built up emotions that didn't involve using the Force to level everything in sight.

He took his lightsaber hilt out of his robes, and threw it with all of his might. He never wanted to see the useless thing ever again, fat lot of good it had done him and his Master and the clones during the battle. He never wanted to set his eyes on it again. He curled into a ball and closed his eyes.

He felt a stirring in the Force. Someone was still alive! Chichi's eyes snapped open and he took off towards it, stumbling groggily and limping and crawling over bodies and metal scraps.

"Hello!" he called. He felt the presance agin, but it was weaker. Whoever it was, they were dying. "Hang on!" He couldn't let whoever it was die. He didn't want to be alone again!

There! He saw a minute movement over the ridge, a gloved hand weakly waving. Chichi rushed over to it, running as fast as humanly possible, not having the energy to even call upon the Force to help him along anymore. He tripped over something suddenly.

His lightsaber. Frowning, he picked it up, maybe it could be of _some_ use.

He continued on his mad dash to the person. He reached the ridge.

Chichi almost threw up right then and there. It was so much worse here than anywhere else. The bodies were literally piled on top of each other, creating some sort of gruesome human barrier.

In the wall of corpses, Chichi noticed movement. A hand twitched ever so slightly. A few meters down, the gloved hand waved again. Chichi almost leapt wih joy.

"Hang on a little longer," he said to the twitching hand. "I'm gonna get you out of there." He started tugging on the hand; there was a groan. Chichi pulled a little harder, and was rewarded with an arm, then a shoulder, then a torso, then a head, and finally, legs and feet.

Now propped up against him was a plain, white armored trooper. He was breathing heavily and gasping for breath, his hazel eyes were closed, and his helmet was probably lost forever.

"Hey, you're . . . you're gonna be okay," Chichi told him. "I'll be right back."

Chichi doggedly sprinted towards the waving hand. Looking down, he found that it was Gorgan. Chichi collapsed next to Gorgan, exhausted, almost completely out of energy. "Gorgan . . . ," he whispered hoarsly.

There was a cough, and then a reply of "You're a stubborn one, kid." Chichi let out a half-hysterical laugh and offered Gorgan his hand. "I didn't think there was anyone else still alive till I saw that piece of scrap come flying out of the sky." The trooper lazily pointed at Chichi's lightsaber. "Anyone else out there?"

Chichi shook his head. "There's a troop a few meters down that's still hanging on, but no one else is left. It's just us." Chichi lifted himself and Gorgan upright, both leaning heavily on the other. "I'm sorry I couldn't save more."

Gorgan roughly smacked him on the back. "You're too new at this to be blamin' yourself for this. We had bad intel, we were outnumbered, out-gunned, and completely surrounded. It was a hell of a battle to be a shiny in."

"A shiny?" Chichi looked at Gorgan with barely hidden confusion.

"A newbie. Someone fresh from training. This was your first battle, kid. Before, you were a shiny. Now, you're a soldier."

They stumbled and limped towards the other survivor. He was still laying there, just as Chichi had left him, which was slightly worrying.

Chichi shook the clone's shoulder. No response, but he swore he could feel the trooper in the Force.

"He's unconscious, most likely dehydrated, and will probably need serious medical attention," Gorgan suggested, though his voice sounded a little fuzzy.

"How do you know that?" Chichi turned towards the battered clone.

Gorgan shrugged. "Speculation. Even if it doesn't turn out to be completely right, it's never a good thing when someone is unconscious." He took his helmet off, and wiped a gloved hand across his face. "It's hot as blazes here." His voice was back to normal. Chichi shook his head, it _was_ uncomfortably hot, maybe the heat was getting to him.

"There was supposed to be a supply drop-off today, they'll probably get here within a few hours," Chichi offered.

"Not unless they get confirmation of our location," Gorgan stated. "Where's General Giovanni?"

Chichi pointed Northwest. "My Master's body is there. But how would it be able to help us now?"

Gorgan ruffled Chichi's hair. "Because they'll radio her through it, and then _we_ can contact them and get an evac."

Chichi brightened and it felt as though he could do anything. They would be able to leave! Then he looked around, frowning. "What about that trooper that was . . . just . . . sitting . . . here?" The clone was gone, there was nothing there.

"Kid? You okay? Only things there are corpses." Gorgan looked at him with a slightly worried expression. "I think the heat's getting to you."

Chichi looked around again. Maybe he _had_ imagined it, but . . . he remembered pulling him out of the pile. He remembered Gorgan saying he was just unconscious, or maybe he had said the trooper was dead. Chichi shook his head, the heat really was getting to him, even if he felt oddly cold.

They walked slowly towards Master Donna's position, Chichi stumbling occasionally and Gorgan tripping a few times over the bodies of his fallen comrades. Finally, they dragged themselves over to Master Donna's body, Chichi fumbling to unhook the comm unit from her belt. There was a crackling noise.

 _"This is Clone Commander Wolffe. We are here to resupply your troops and send reinforcements. Do you read me? General Giovanni, do you copy?"_

"This is Padawan Chichi Matoni." Chichi stopped to gasp for breath, he felt extremely thirsty and nauseated all of the sudden. "Clone trooper Gorgan and I are the only survivors. We need an evac immediately."

 _"Send us your coordinates Padawan Matoni. And hang in there, help will be there ASAP."_

Chichi, not knowing their exact coordinates, handed the comm over to Gorgan. He listened only vaguely as his head pounded and he felt so completely overheated, a sharp contrast to that cold feeling he'd had earlier. He felt a hand on his shoulder, heard a muffled "We'll get outta this alive, okay?" and collapsed onto the ground. He was purely, utterly, drained. He had nothing left to give anymore, there was no more he could do, he couldn't even move a finger if he wanted to. His eyelids felt so heavy, his skin felt so dry and hot and cracked. He just wanted to lay there, his cheek pressed against the rough, dry brown grass, forever and never have to move again. Here, on the ground, he didn't have to worry about tomorrow, or yesterday, or today. He didn't have to care about battle strategies or feel guilty about not saving them all. Here, he could be at peace.

His upper arm was grabbed roughly, and he was shook a little. He felt his heart racing and his breath came rapidly. Something cold, and wet, was thrown in his face. Chichi's eyes fluttered open a bit and he sputtered, spitting the liquid.

"Don't die on me now, kid."

Chichi cracked a small smile. "Wouldn't . . . dream of . . . it . . ."

"Enough dilly-dallying. If he passes out again, he may not wake up."

"Let's go. We'll come back for the bodies later."

Chichi felt himself get dragged onto a gunship. He felt himself get leaned onto someone's shoulder, and he was fairly certain he knew who.

* * *

Chichi woke up in the med-bay a few days later, a clone with a familiar set of painted black armor on the bed over.

Gorgan looked over at him. "Hey, kid. Didn't think you'd wake up this time around."

Chichi smiled. "Well, couldn't exactly let you tell the story, right?"

"Guess not."

A thought suddenly occurred to Chichi, and it saddened him greatly. "Are we . . . are we gonna see each other again after this?"

Gorgan gave him an amused look. "You kiddin'? Of course we are. I wouldn't serve with any other Jedi's brat."

Chichi smiled gratefully at him. "Well, _this_ Jedi brat thinks we're going to be friends for a while."

Gorgan chuckled. "I should hope so, kid. I'd miss having a cheeky little brat around to question everything I do."

"And I'd miss having someone who slaps me upside the head constantly."

Gorgan chuckled again and stared unseeingly at the ceiling.

"How do you think this will end, Gorgan?"

The trooper looked back at him, clearly startled by the sudden change in tone. "I think we'll win this. And I think you and I will get along well enough till the end and maybe, just maybe, beyond the end of it."

"Yeah, that sounds good." Chichi looked over at him. "Friends?" Chichi held out his pinkie finger.

Gorgan smiled at him, locking his own pinkie with Chichi's. "Friends."

Chichi beamed at the trooper, a truly childish side that he hadn't shown in a while shining through.

* * *

Chichi felt tears slide down his face. They had all turned on him and Master Daniel. His Master had forced him into a stack of crates to protect him, and it had worked, for a time. The clones had found him. Which brings him back to the present.

The tears wouldn't stop. He was only fifteen, he didn't want to die. The clones were his friends. They would all laugh and eat together and share stories. What had he done wrong? What had he done to deserve this?

And there was Gorgan, at the forefront of the group, aiming his blaster right at his head. Chichi felt something in himself break, and he dropped his lightsaber. He wouldn't - _couldn't_ \- attack his friend. He refused.

He looked into Gorgan's helmet, trying to find his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Gorgan's finger hesitated on the trigger for a second. One second.

Then Chichi Matoni was no more.

* * *

 **Whooee! That was a long one, nearly 3,000 words. Can you believe it? Basically, when I forget to update for a while this is what you'll get. A punch right in the feels. Speaking of, how did you like this chapter? I really diverted from what I normally do. Did you like the actual character development, or would you rather less . . . _human_ characters? You know, ones that actually change and grow during the story versus the ones that just, well, _die._ Personally, I'm rather proud of this one (as I sit here crying because I just realized how similar this is to Kanan's story, minus a few things, and asldkjfhsdakljfhjktyh).**


End file.
